


Gehenna

by SegaBarrett



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Dark fic, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-14
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2017-12-14 22:28:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/842086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SegaBarrett/pseuds/SegaBarrett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jesse has fallen hard, and Walt declares he'll save him from himself - whether Jesse wants it or not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Dark fic. Probably the darkest I've ever written. Non-con, dub-con, BDSM, prostitution, drug use, throwing up, abuse. And probably more in the future. Be warned.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Breaking Bad, and I make no money from this.

“How much?”

The voice was a whisper against Jesse’s ear. He could smell the alcohol, could almost _hear_ it, somehow. It burnt. 

He knew it would hurt. He was past caring.

Mr. White had been proven right; when Jesse hadn’t gotten the five million, he’d burnt the rest of his money on junk and speed. He couldn’t sleep, otherwise, couldn’t wake up. He’d cordoned off a certain amount of money to support the house, and for Andrea’s rent, but besides that, he was broke.

So he’d been reduced to this. Sitting in an ally on this cold Albuquerque night, offering himself up for money, for a hit.

Mr. White would spit on him if he knew, or maybe he’d just laugh. Or maybe he’d kill him. At this point, Jesse would just let him; Saul would make sure Andrea kept getting the money.  
Jesse stroked his hand down the opposite arm, tracing the blackened trails and swallowing nervously. 

“Twenty bucks.” His voice was low. The look in the man’s eyes… he didn’t like it. Maybe he’d be one of the men Wendy had confessed her fear of, the ones who’d strangle you and leave you in a ditch just because they could, because it was fun for them.

“Thirty,” the man replied, “If I can rough you up a little.”

“Thirty,” Jesse echoed. His voice was hollow. “Where’s your car?”

“I’d rather we do this right here.”

Jesse felt hands on his head, forcing him down before he could catch his breath. His face was in the dirt, and then it was up again, and he was choking, hands flailing, his slowed-down system panicking. He couldn’t breathe and couldn’t get away. There was no air to use to beg or plead, and he’d agreed to this, hadn’t he?

Not _this_. When he finally got a chance to breathe, he came up coughing and sputtering, eyes wide with terror.

“Take a hike.” The voice came out of nowhere and, at first, Jesse thought he’d imagined it. Then it came again. “Take a hike. Or I’ll blow a hole in your back.”

Jesse slumped into the dirt, slowly looking up. The man in front of him disappeared, scattered, and from behind him emerged a man he thought he’d never see again.  
Mr. White.

Jesse pictured a scene. He hadn’t spent a lot of time paying attention in church as a kid, but he pictured Mr. White leaning down and lifting Jesse up, telling him to sin no more and sending him safely on his way.

Christ-like wasn’t exactly Mr. White’s M.O., however, and that hadn’t changed.

“Get up.” The voice was tinged with disgust, with contempt. “Unless you’d rather stay here in filth, Jesse.”

Jesse moved his palms, lifted himself as he felt jagged edges dig against his hands. He got to his feet but hung his head in front of Mr. White.

“I doubt that this is what you want.”

Jesse shook his head. It wasn’t what he wanted, but it was what he was. He was nothing. He was dirt. What was Mr. White doing here, anyway?

“I can help you.”

He attached his hand to Jesse’s hoodie and yanked, like it was a leash and Jesse was a dog.   
Jesse followed.

***

“Take off your shoes. You’ll track mud on the floor,” Mr. White directed as Jesse entered the condo. Jesse did. It hurt to bend down. Every muscle ached. He must be coming down; the fuzzy cotton sleepy feeling was giving way to sharp pinprick pains along his arms, legs and stomach. “Living here, you’ll learn,” Mr. White was saying, and Jesse gave him a confused look. Mr. White’s gaze was exasperated, disappointed. “If you’re good, you’ll get privileges. If you’re bad, you get punished.”

Jesse’s eyes opened wide, frightened.

“What kind of punishments?”

Mr. White smiled.

“Let’s try not to find out. Why don’t we go have some dinner?”

“Mr. White, I can’t eat. I feel sick.”

“Gee, wonder why that is.” The older man reached out and yanked Jesse’s arm without warning. He howled. “Hmmm, the idiot junkie has got infected track marks. Wonderful. Haven’t you seen _Requiem for a Dream_? You want your arm to have to get cut off?” He yanked again for good measure, and Jesse’s eyes filled with tears.

“Mr. White, stop! Please! Ow. Jeez.”

The older man finally let go.

“Jesse, Jesse,” he murmured, “I don’t want to hurt you, but you see, that’s the only way the message gets through your head.” He tapped Jesse’s forehead. “I just want you to live, and ot like this.”

Jesse swallowed.

“Is my arm gonna be okay?”

“I think it’ll be alright,” Mr. White said after a moment. “But we’ll have to keep an eye on it. You need to stop injecting. No questions asked. Otherwise you won’t have an arm to inject into. You’d _really_ be pathetic then, wouldn’t you?”

Jesse whimpered.

“Eat.”

“I’ll throw up if I eat.”

Mr. White shrugged.

“At least you’ll be keeping some of it down. You’re too skinny. You’re going to eat. Unless you’d rather go back out on the street and let men rape you for money.”

Jesse rolled his eyes and crossed his arms protectively.

“Not exactly rape if I get paid, is it?”

Mr. White’s only reply to that was a derisive snort.

“Eat,” he compelled again, a few moments later. Jesse found himself being shoved towards the table. His head lulled as he sat, and before long Mr. White was in front of him, holding a sandwich.

“I’m going to throw up,” Jesse whimpered again, “Please. Mr. White. This is bullshit.”  
Mr. White gave him a look that stated in no uncertain terms that it wasn’t a request. Jesse opened his mouth, chewed the bit of sandwich and swallowed it. It tasted like… like sawdust or something. His stomach rolled, but he forced down a few more bites.

Then his stomach turned like he’d had a knife forced in. He leaned over and threw up, lurched forward and slumped his head. Everything hurt. His head was pounding. He felt hot everywhere.  
He could hear himself apologizing, pleading for Mr. White to not be angry with him. He was surprised to feel hands on his back, soothing him.

“It’s all right, Jesse. It’s all right. I’ll clean it up and clean you up, too.”

Jesse closed his eyes, let Mr. White do the work for him, let him wipe his lips and lead him into the bathroom, into the shower. His clothes were removed and tossed into a hamper.

He was in a daze through the shower; then he was vaguely conscious of being dressed again and led into a bed, a soft bed.

“I have to go,” Mr. White told him.

Jesse raised his head desperately.

“Where?” 

“Home. I’ll be back in the morning.”

He slumped back down and faintly heard Mr. White lock the door. He was trapped.

***

Andrea Cantillo shifted her weight to her left side. Her mother’s voice rang in her head: _stand up straight, Andrea! Quit slouching!_

The barrettes went in her hair next, before she took them out and pulled her hair into a ponytail instead.

He had to go see Jesse. She couldn’t even put a finger on it. It’d be a few months since she’d seen him last, since he’d broken it off with her, that haunted look in his eyes that told her it wasn’t because he didn’t love her but because he did.

Since then, she’d tried to write the whole thing off, tried to focus on Brock and on getting her general shit back together. She’d started classes at the community college, wrestling with English Comp and a Spanish class she’d thought would be an easy A but instead frustrated her because her classmates rolled in late and asked idiotic questions.

But she couldn’t stop thinking about Jesse. She found that something dangerously close to love took root in her chest whenever she recalled his voice, his touch. The way he’d been so kind to her son, to her; the way he’d smiled like he’d forgotten how to until he saw her.

After the failed writing off had come the double-edged hopes, wishing that a forgotten item or missed period would make her need to go over there. But nothing had forced her hand.

She’d have to force her own. Make some kind of soap opera confession with incidental music and big pauses about how she loved him no matter what, and how she’d wait.

She _did_ love him, as impractical as it all was, and she _would_ wait – she didn’t have much other choice.

Or she could go looking for him. Go to his house, get a sitter for Brock in case she found Jesse in a state.

Maybe that’s what she would do.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow she’d go looking.


	2. Chapter 2

Jesse awoke from a sleep that had happened more out of exhaustion than an actual desire to sleep. The bed was warm but the condo had a chill to it. Maybe Mr. White just liked it cooler, or maybe it was from the withdrawal. Jesse wasn’t sure.

“Mr. White?” he called, wondering if the older man had come back yet. When he heard no response, he gingerly got off the bed and climbed to his feet.

He looked around at the room; Mr. White’s bedroom, it must have been, but it held so few of his possessions that it might as well have been a guest room.

In a way, Jesse figured, it had become one. A room to house Jesse, to keep him out of trouble, to save him from himself.

His fingers traced the wall. The room seemed oddly safe, though he was ill at ease about those “punishments” Mr. White had alluded to. He couldn’t really be serious, could he? It had to just be scare tactics to keep Jesse in line. He didn’t really want to find out, though. Not after Mr. White had ordered the deaths of those nine men. He’d heard all about it; God, one of them had been burned alive.

Jesse shuddered, hard. And he still didn’t know Mike’s fate. He hoped the man had gotten away safely and was lying on a beach somewhere, but he really didn’t know. Mr. White had been so very bitter and jealous of Mike. Had he hurt him somehow, or worse?

That was when Jesse heard the sound of the door opening, and the hurried steps entering the condo.

Jesse instinctively jumped back into bed, like a child trying not to get caught doing something wrong. His ears still burned, and he still ached.

“Jesse?” Mr. White’s voice called.

“Yeah,” Jesse yelled back. The older man appeared in the doorway with one of those half-smiles, the ones that Jesse had learned to be suspicious of. 

“How did you sleep?”

“Good, I guess,” Jesse replied. He sat up on the bed. “Are you gonna do that every night? Leave me and go home?”

Mr. White shrugged.

“Did you dream?” It was an odd question. Jesse almost said “no”, just on first instinct, but he remembered a flash of something. 

“Yeah,” he mumbled, “I dreamt about an old woman who didn’t have one of her feet. Well, she had it, but it wasn’t, like, attached. She carried it along on a string. Like dragged it behind her like a kid with one of those rolling toys.” Jesse shuddered. “What could that mean?”

Mr. White shrugged.

“Must be the drugs.”

***

There was not really much to do in Mr. White’s condo over the next day, whether the older man was there or not. When he was home, the two watched TV and Jesse managed to eat another sandwich and actually keep it down this time. Everything about him felt listless, draggy, like the weight of him was too much to hold up.

Mr. White, for his part, was patient thus far. He watched Jesse with a curious eye, the same way he’d watched reactions go down in the lab. He made no more cruel remarks and actually seemed kind of glad to have Jesse around. Through the fog, he figured that even though Mr. White and his wife were back together, things probably weren’t going all that well.

Jesse shrugged. He figured it was no worse than being back at his parents’, helping to set the table.

“Sure, okay. What do you need me to do?”

“We need to clean this place. I haven’t been here in weeks and it’s gotten dusty and… just needs to be cleaned. And the bathroom. You need to bleach it.”

Jesse’s head came up.

“Is this where the punishments come in?” he asked quietly. His throat was dry.

Mr. White gave a dark smile.

“If you do what you’re supposed to, you won’t find out. Isn’t that right, Jesse? Now, I need you to head to the bathroom and clean.”

***

Jesse’s fingers hurt. He thought he’d been scrubbing for the past hour, but if he was completely honest, he really didn’t know. He still felt like shit; his stomach kept cramping up, protesting every movement, and every breath. He wondered how long it would take to dissipate and leave him, without the help of the chemical aids he’d had in rehab. On that end, he wished he could just take some painkillers and go back to bed, but Mr. White hadn’t offered and he didn’t really know if he wanted to ask.

His hand went back to his stomach again. Of all the pains he’d come to know this past year and a half, this somehow managed to be worse than the broken ribs or the bruises, or even the deep ache inside, the feeling of being unclean. The withdrawal seemed to love to wrench him to two, break him apart as it took, took, took and demanded still more. 

Jesse tilted back his head and let out a little cry. He could see what had lured Jane to the needle, he always had, but now he knew what must have always lured her back when she’d tried to break away. 

If only he could go out and find just a hit. Enough to take the edge off so he could get through the day. But unless he wanted to climb out the window (and he didn’t), he couldn’t, and if he left, Mr. White might not allow him to come back. As bad as this was, at least he wasn’t back on the street – at the thought, he felt the fingers clasping around his neck, and the breath in his ear, the idea of being strangled and left in a ditch. The first time the customer was cruel and wouldn’t stop even when Jesse pleaded with him, told him he was bleeding and crawled off later with all the wind knocked out of him. That time he’d found Wendy and collapsed sobbing in a heap next to her because she was the only face he recognized.  
He swallowed hard and kept scrubbing. The grime would come off eventually, and then there’d be a nice clean shine.

***

Andrea began her search at Jesse’s house. The sight of it brought up memories for her, the feeling of Jesse’s arms around her, the soft kiss of his lips and the way his voice would whisper in her ear. Even that time he’d called her out, he’d never yelled, and that was one of the things she liked best about him. She had become trained to flinch from a yell, from the rising voice that signaled a fist flying towards her.

She could still feel Jesse inside her, the way he never claimed, never took. He was always so careful, even when she’d just been a one night stand that was never supposed to turn into something. That was Jesse, soft and careful.

She fingered the key and placed it in the lock, turned it and felt the door give way. Maybe she’d walk in on Jesse and some other girl, and that’d be, well, it’d be whatever it was. It wasn’t like they were still together. Jesse could be lost, so lost something like when she’d rung his doorbell to ask about the money and he’d been so strung out like he hadn’t slept in days, like he was afraid to sleep.

She stepped inside. The house was quiet. Well, for what it was worth, there was no sound of a bed creaking. But her mind quickly went from that unfavorable scenario – though she didn’t care, _totally_ didn’t care if Jesse was sleeping with some other girl, really – to a worse one. What if Jesse was up in bed, overdosed, dead and had been that way for days?

Catching him with some girl would be better. _You’ve gotta be alive to fuck,_ she reminded herself dryly. 

She walked about the living room, into the kitchen, and up the stairs, into the bedrooms. There was no sign of Jesse, but no sign of a struggle, either. She couldn’t help but feel unsettled, though. He could be out, that could be it, but something was telling there that that wasn’t it. He hadn’t left out beer or video games like he did when he was leaving but coming back in a few hours; it seemed a more systematic leaving for good.

She swallowed hard and took out her phone, hitting Jesse’s number.

“Yo, this is Jesse. Leave it at the beep.”

“Hey, Jesse. It’s… it’s Andrea. I just want to hear from you… so… uh… whenever you get this, can you give me a call back? Thanks… uh, talk to you later.”

She hung up and drug her hand over her face. Where could she go from here? Just say here and wait until he got back? Wasn’t that just way too “Fatal Attraction”, though?

But she couldn’t just turn around and leave, either. Something, some kind of intuition was telling her that Jesse was in some kind of danger. And who was going to save him, if she didn’t? Who was going to care about him if she didn’t?

She remembered how Jesse would tremble in his sleep when they were together, how he’d cry. The way she’d hold him and whisper comfort when he was still asleep and probably couldn’t remember it in the morning. He was broken. She wasn’t going to be able to put him back together. But that wasn’t her aim.

She just wanted him back in one piece.


	3. Chapter 3

Jesse had collapsed on the bathroom floor by the time Mr. White came in to check on him. The older man shook him awake. 

The first thing Jesse was conscious of was Mr. White’s voice telling him, “Looks good. Do you want something to eat?”

Jesse sleepily nodded. He was staring. The older man extended his hand and Jesse gripped it with his good one, hoisting himself up and following his host into the dining room. He had set up plates, forks, and knives.

“What’s for dinner?” Jesse asked. His tongue was thick in his mouth. Everything felt uncomfortable, but it had stopped being totally painful. He guessed he had worked through the worst of it. His arm was still throbbing, though, on and off; he got used to it, somehow. He had to.

“Spaghetti,” Mr. White replied.

“Great,” Jesse enthused, taking a seat. When Mr. White served it, Jesse dug in, scooping up forkfuls. “Thank you,” he said in between bites. Mr. White nodded, seemingly in a kind of approval.

“You look better,” he commented.

“I feel better,” Jesse admitted. “What are we doing tonight?”

“I think you’ve worked hard enough today,” Mr. White replied, “I’m going back to my house. You can stay here. Watch TV and relax.”

“Can’t I go out?” Jesse asked, “Go to the mall or something?” Now that he was feeling less dead, he was starting to realize how much he missed the feeling of the sun on his face, the smell of flowers and trees.

Mr. White’s eyes darkened. 

“You will not leave this condo.”

Jesse swallowed. The punishment Mr. White had threatened hovered in his mind.

“Okay.”

Mr. White reached up and patted him on the head.

“Good.”

***

Andrea shifted from side to side, foot to foot as she rang the doorbell. She probably should have called first, or instead, but maybe this would be more fruitful.

The door opened, and an older blonde woman appeared in the doorway. Behind her was an older man, and a preteen boy. 

“Hi, uh, Mrs. Pinkman?” Andrea inquired.

“Yes?” the woman asked. She looked less than thrilled at the intrusion. “How may I hell you?”

“My name is Andrea. I’m looking for Jesse.”

Mrs. Pinkman sighed.

“Come in. Sit down.” She ushered her inside and gestured for her to take a seat on the couch, which she did. When Andrea had crossed one leg over the other and vice versa three times, the woman spoke again. “I assume you want to see my son for… personal reasons.”

Andrea blinked.

“Yeah, I guess so.” She gazed around the room and noticed that the boy was looking at her with distrust. She didn’t like it; they all put her on edge. “Have you seen him?”

“No,” Mrs. Pinkman replied, “But if you’re… in trouble…” Andrea opened her mouth once she caught the meaning, about to respond.

The boy cut in, “The clinic’s on 8th Street.”

“Jacob!” Mrs. Pinkman exclaimed, appalled.

Andrea’s eyes flared.

“Maybe someone should’ve given that address to your mother, you little smartass!”

The Pinkmans’ eyes turned towards Andrea.

“Uh, sorry.” She caught her breath. Why did this all have to be so frustrating? Did she really think she was going to find out any more by coming him than by going by Jesse’s house? Jesse hadn’t mentioned his parents _or_ his brother… and Andrea was starting to see why. She raised her hand. “I’m not pregnant. Totally, very much not pregnant. I would just like to find Jesse. He’s important to me and I want to make sure that he’s all right.”

Mrs. Pinkman looked at her and sighed.

“I’m sorry Miss…”

“Cantillo.”

“But I haven’t talked to my son in at least the last six months. Last person to come around asking about him was some DEA Agent. Schrader was his name. I can’t help you there. I hope you find him, though. I’m glad my son has someone who cares about him.”  
Andrea started at the comment, wondering if it meant Jesse’s parents no longer did. But she didn’t say it.

“Thank you for your help,” she said instead, then hesitated before adding, “Like I said, I’m not pregnant. But I do have a little son who… he’s six. And he loves Jesse and Jesse loves him so if… if somehow you do see him, tell him that Andrea and Brock love him and want him to come home.” Somehow she managed to say the words without tearing up, but she said them to the floor. “Anyway, uh… Thank you for your time.” She stood, turned, and walked out the door.  
Jesse had to be somewhere. And if she really was the only person left who cared about him, that meant she needed to find him even more. She would stop at nothing.

She loved him. She knew that now.

***

Jesse had watched three episodes of Twin Peaks in a row. His mind had started wandering, and his body was restless. 

He had never thought so much about the sun and the light before in his life. He was probably going to catch hell from Mr. White if he went out walking around…

But he was going to get cabin fever if he stayed. Who even knew when Mr. White was coming back, anyway?

And it wasn’t like he had to find out.

But he didn’t have the key to the condo. He would lock himself out…

Unless…

Jesse grabbed a doorstop, a wooden one with a random sad looking cat on it, and slid it in between the door frame and the actual door, before stepping through.

Freedom. He was out in the fresh air. He drank it in. It felt so good, so rich, like drinking ice cold water after being in the heat for hours.

He rubbed his hands against his shirt. He needed to change soon, needed to shower more. He could smell the sweat and grime.

But right now it didn’t matter. He looked around the condo and took in its surroundings for the first time. His new home.

He reached up and rubbed his eyes. The sun was starting to make them ache. It was time to go back inside.

He approached the front door and prepared to let himself in. His eyes darted down the door, as if he didn’t understand what he was looking at, not at first.

The wind. The wind must have knocked out the doorstop and blown the door closed.

He was locked out. His heart thumped in a frenzied panic. Surely Mr. White wouldn’t really punish him, surely it was all smoke and mirrors and talking a big game, wasn’t it?

 _Oh God but what if…_ His heart skipped and he felt faint. How much did he really even know the man anymore?

Perhaps he could open a window and slip in – he was pretty skinny, wasn’t he?

He made his way around to the nearest window and fumbled with it, trying to pry it open and up. His fingers ached. Had it been worth it, for whatever Mr. White was going to do? How long would he have to stay out here?

He sat down, curled in on himself, and wept, hidden from view by the back of the condo.

***

He must have been there at least a few hours by the time the older man arrived back at the condo.

“Mr. White,” he pleaded weakly, tentatively, “I got locked out.”

The man rounded on him.

“Jesse! You junkie idiot! How much more clearly could I tell you…” He grabbed Jesse’s neck and, after unlocking the door, shoved him inside. He toppled over, hit the ground.

“Mr. White, please, come on,” Jesse begged. His mind buzzed with the odd realization that he had beaten Mr. White in a fight twice – he was stronger than him, at least at his best. But here he was cowering, a child afraid of an angry parent, a child little older than Brock. Why was he giving Mr. White this power?

He didn’t have time to analyze it before the man cut in.

“You apparently don’t listen. Maybe you’ll listen when I give you something to remember this by.”

Jesse’s chin nodded of its own accord. At least if Mr. White did this, maybe he wouldn’t be so mad anymore, wouldn’t be angry. He needed Mr. White to be nice to him; he was the one who cared about him when his parents didn’t, when no one did. He needed Mr. White.

“You agree? Good. We need to do this, Jesse.” There was a kind of cold softness to his voice now. “Now stand with your hands on the couch and lean forward. And take your clothes off. They’re disgusting.”

“What are you going…”

“Just do it, Jesse.” The words were said with no anger, just simple determination. That was scarier. Jesse complied, stripped off his clothing and wadded it into a ball. “Down on your knees.” Jesse listened. Had it been worth it? Just to feel the sun and smell the grass?  
He closed his eyes as he heard the clink of Mr. White undoing his belt. 

He sucked in a breath and hadn’t let it out yet when the first blow hit. The pain was red hot, a little explosion against his skin; again and again until Jesse lost count, traveling up his ass and into his lower back. He didn’t move. He stayed.

Eventually the pain stopped and he heard in a fuzzy, blurry daze Mr. White telling him to stand up. He tried. His legs were rubber. He pictured himself like Gumby, clay that could fall apart if split or mashed. His arm was throbbing again too, which was odd because he hadn’t hit it; maybe he had been leaning on it.

“Come on. Get up.” When he failed again, rising and flopping to his knees again, Mr. White firmly grasped his good arm and slowly lifted him up. “There you are, Jesse. It’s alright.” Jesse’s eyes opened and he turned towards the older man. His eyes felt wet , but he couldn’t remember crying. “It’s all right, Jesse,” Mr. White coaxed. “Let’s go get you some clothes. I have some things in my closet.”

His touch was firm but gentle. Jesse’s fluttered like a butterfly that had lost its wing somehow, broken it, and he wondered at how natural it felt to be nude whilst Mr. White was still fully clothed; it bore none of the humiliation that it should.

Maybe it was just the way of things.

“You ought to be glad I came back when I did. It’s supposed to rain soon. You’d have caught a hell of a cold out there. Here’s a shirt, Jesse, this might fit you, and here are some shorts. Go get dressed and then go to bed. I’ll stay here with you tonight.”


	4. Chapter 4

Andrea dreamt of Jesse that night. Dreamt of him like he’d never be found, like he was gone somewhere else and now he only existed in her dreams at all.

Dreamt of him lying at the bottom of the ocean as the tide eroded him, swept him away.

Dreamt of the child they’d never have together lying in a rocker at the edge of her home, rocking back and forth and looking at her with some kind of expectation.

Dreamt of a shallow grave with Jesse in it, hands clasped over his chest as he slept, slept forever – as he dreamt of her dreaming of him?

When she awoke, she paced, wondering where to look for him, where to find him. There had to be a place. Maybe if she looked hard enough, there would be some sign. But did he even want to be found?

That question she answered not in her head but in her heart. It had been real love, pained love that Jesse had looked at her with. He needed her, even if he didn’t know it yet. Somehow, when she found him… He would know that it was right. That she was right.

When she found him, she’d wrap him in her arms and she’d feel his lips against hers. Those soft, careful lips that she couldn’t resist, not ever.

She just needed to figure out where to look.

She paced the floor. What about that friend of Jesse’s that he’d introduced her to? The one who had been over his house the day that she and Brock had dropped in so that she could cook Jesse dinner? He had looked surprised when she had come in, nearly startled. The darkness had gone back into his eyes, the fear. 

He’d broken up with her that night.

She had to find him. She had to find him.

***

When Jesse awoke, he was immediately conscious of a few very distinct things. First of all, his ass still ached, and so did his back. When he slowly reached back, he could feel angry red marks where the belt had hit. They were raised, like the numbers on a credit card, and Jesse felt a strange kind of fascination when he ran his fingers over them. The memory was horrible, but there was something there, the realization that Mr. White would keep him, even if he were bad. Even if he had to punish him to make him learn.

Mr. White was sleeping soundly next to him. Jesse smiled. He had stayed. He had told the truth. Jesse wanted to wake him up and thank him, but just the same he was fearful of the potential repercussions of awakening Mr. White when he didn’t want to be woken up. He certainly didn’t want another round with the belt.

Jesse shuddered at that thought. He had to show Mr. White that he could be good. Maybe he could go down to the kitchen and make them both breakfast. Then the older man would be happy with him.

He slowly slipped out of bed and made his way down to the kitchen. What did Mr. White like? Maybe he could try his hand at huevas rancheros again. He’d need to find some eggs first…

He made his way over to open the fridge, and was surprised to find his arm aching again. He hoped like hell that was planning on going away sometime soon. Maybe this time he had just slept on it wrong. He solved the issue by opening the fridge with his other arm, as awkward as he found the motion. Maybe he’d talk to Mr. White about it. He would probably know what to do. 

There was a carton of eggs sitting at the top of the fridge, and he reached in and took them out with his bad arm, placing them on the counter. Okay, so that was the eggs. He needed some salsa, which he found, but Mr. White didn’t have any tortillas in his fridge. Jesse would just have to improvise.

He took a frying pan and broke four eggs over it, taking care to try and pick out the shells. He knew Mr. White wouldn’t be nearly so forgiving as Jane had been.

Jesse turned on the heat and smiled at himself. Mr. White was going to be pleased with him…

He heard the sound of the door opening and sighed. There went his chance to surprise Mr. White, anyhow.

“Morning, Jesse,” Mr. White called. He looked at the oven and Jesse had a sudden panic. What if Mr. White were angry with him for touching his things? He opened his mouth but nothing came out, every attempt to apologize just becoming a complete trip of the tongue. 

Mr. White looked around, seeming to consider the scene.

“I… Uh… Thought I’d make you breakfast,” Jesse managed, “To… uh, make up for yesterday. And to say… to say thank you for taking care of me.”

Mr. White’s lips curled into a smile.

“That’s very nice of you, Jesse. Good boy.” He walked over and put a hand on Jesse’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Looks like you’re not so hopeless after all.”

Jesse smiled nervously, not sure whether he ought to take the words as a compliment or as a chastisement. 

“I… uh… The eggs are almost ready,” he said instead. Jesse scooped up the eggs and placed them on a plate, before applying salsa and some salt. He carefully balanced it, feeling so clumsy even with just such a small task. He placed in before Mr. White with almost a bow, and his head was flooded with the strangest image – that of himself at Mr. White’s feet, licking his boots as the older man patted him on the head. Jesse shuddered. 

“Thank you, Jesse,” Mr. White told him calmly, and Jesse’s shudder became a shiver. He felt strangely warm. This was all he had, he might as well be good at it. “You know, you can go ahead and grab some for yourself. You know you need to keep your strength up, don’t you?”

Jesse nodded.

“I do.” His voice was barely above a whisper as he scooped some egg on to a second plate and moved to sit across from Mr. White. “What… what did you want me to do today? More… more cleaning? ‘Cause I, I could do that for you if there’s… there’s anything else you need fixed up around here.” He started to cut his eggs and scooped up a small piece into his mouth.

“No, Jesse,” Mr. White replied, “I had something a little different in mind. Eat up, and I’ll tell you all about it.”


	5. Chapter 5

“This is nice, Mr. White.” Jesse’s voice was quiet and tentative. A little worried that the weird calm that had settled over the older man wouldn’t last. He almost didn’t notice that his arm was still throbbing, or maybe he had just gotten used to it. Habituated. 

Mr. White was sitting on the couch with the remote in his hand, sitting very close to Jesse. There was a weird kind of homey, family feel to the whole thing. Even though he was a captive – _but not really_ , Jesse reminded himself, _not really, I could leave anytime, I could just never come back._

“I’m glad, Jesse.” Mr. White wasn’t looking at him, not directly. Instead he was staring ahead at the television. He had turned it to _Cops_ , but it hadn’t stayed in any one place for very long. Maybe they both needed distractions. 

“Hey… lookit… that guy…” Jesse mumbled, not really coming across very coherently. His mind was all jumbled, even if he felt at peace right now. Even if things were okay right now.

“Use your words, Jesse,” Mr. White said, annoyed. His voice had a crisp sharpness to it, like an adult disciplining a child who had got on his last nerve. Jesse couldn’t help it; he made a little squeak of fear.  
Mr. White’s features softened at it, as if he was satisfied now that he had gotten Jesse where he wanted him. Where he needed him. He even reached out an arm and looped it around the younger man, pulling him in to lay his head on Mr. White’s shoulder.

Jesse let out another sound, but this one was a contented mewl.

“I’m really tired, Mr. White,” he admitted. “My eyes feel so… they’re so heavy.” Everything in him just wanted to sleep. But he knew that if he allowed himself to give in to that sleep, then Mr. White might not be the same when he woke up. He needed nice Mr. White, caring Mr. White… oh, what was he kidding? Obviously he needed mean Mr. White, too. To discipline him, to keep him in line… to keep him alive. It was becoming ever-clearer that Jesse wouldn’t be able to make it if he had to go it alone.

“That’s okay, Jesse,” Mr. White soothed. “I don’t think I’m going back home tonight.”

“Does… does that mean…” Jesse’s voice was quiet, and full of hope. “Stay with me tonight. You feel so warm. So safe. I… I love you.” 

He didn’t know where the words had come from. Just some kind of need, deep within him. Mr. White cared about him. He always would. He would protect him. Jesse wouldn’t have to sleep and be haunted by those horrible things, those… those things like Jane and Gale and now Drew Sharp and how he had fallen off his bike and died, how the light had gone out in his eyes. If Mr. White were there, he could keep all that away.

Mr. White turned and blinked at Jesse, and the younger man flinched. He must have said something wrong; he shouldn’t have said that he loved Mr. White like that. Mr. White didn’t want that, God, he only cared about Jesse in a former student kind of way, in a father-son kind of way, and Jesse had hopped way over the line and now Mr. White was going to throw him out on his ass and there was nothing Jesse could do to stop it. 

And then Mr. White moved his hand to Jesse’s cheek. He stroked it, softly, as he made sure that Jesse’s eyes were meeting his own. But maybe he should look away. Maybe that was what Mr. White wanted instead. Deference. Submission. Wasn’t that what this was all about?

“I love you too, Jesse.” Walt’s voice cut him out of his thoughts. “That’s why I’m doing all of this. Because I am that one person out there who truly loves you.”

A chill ran up Jesse’s spine. He wasn’t sure whether it was good or bad.

“You love me too?” he asked softly. He reached out and clung to Mr. White. “Please don’t ever leave. I couldn’t… couldn’t take it.” His mind was acutely aware of his arm throbbing again, but it barely registered against all the emotion. 

“I know you need me, Jesse,” Mr. White told him. “And I won’t leave. So long as you follow the rules, you can stay. I’ll take care of you. And I’m patient, Jesse. I’ll keep going over them with you when you need a… reminder.” He touched Jesse’s shoulder softly, patted it. “It’s okay, Jesse.”

“I promise to follow the rules,” Jesse whispered. “I won’t… I know I’m bad, sometimes. Thank… you for putting up with me.” He blinked, and there were tears in his eyes. Was he that bad? Yes, yes he was. He had killed a man. More than one. He had blood on his hands and he had screwed up everything and everyone he had ever loved. Even his family, even his own flesh and blood had given up on him and didn’t want anything to do with him anymore, so he needed to hold on to whatever he still had. And what he still had was Mr. White and his strict rules and his… whatever this was. “Mr. White? I… I’m tired. Could you put me to bed now?”

Mr. White looked at him with an odd gaze. He seemed pleased, as if some plan Jesse was too exhausted to understand was working perfectly. All Jesse wanted was to feel like someone cared about him. He still wasn’t far from the smells and sounds of that gutter he’d been found in, the ones where junkies would have stepped over his dying body on the way to another hit.

Everything Mr. White had told him had been true, after all.

“Of course, Jesse. I will.”


	6. Chapter 6

“Mom?”

Andrea turned her head and rubbed at her eyes. She had been zoning out again, lost in thoughts of how she was ever going to track down Jesse. She’d been trying to remember the name of that man who had visited… Walter was his first name, but what about a last name? Had he even told her a last name?

“Yes, Brock?” she asked, looking over at her son. She smiled. This whole thing seemed completely crazy and impossible but at least, in a way, she wasn’t in this alone. Brock would always be her heart, her rock.

“When will we see Jesse again?”

Andrea looked down, feeling her heart break. She knew that Brock adored Jesse, and she knew that on some level he was taking his absence personally. She needed to tell him as much as she could, but without worrying him.

“Brock, honey, come here.” She patted the space on the couch next to her. When Brock sat down, she wrapped her arms around him and held him close. “I think Jesse might be in trouble. So I’m trying to find him and bring him home.”

“But how will you find out where he is?” Brock asked quietly. 

“I’m not sure yet baby. But I’m going to try all the ideas I can come up with. And if you come up with any, why don’t you let me know? Jesse is your friend, too.”  
Brock smiled.

“Yeah, Jesse is the best,” he said excitedly. “When he gets back, me and him are gonna play video games for like… ever. I want to show him my new game. Do… do you think he’ll want to?”

“I’m sure he will, Brock. Now listen…” She gently let go of him. “Why don’t you finish up your homework, and then we’ll watch a movie?”

“Okay.” Brock went upstairs, and Andrea heard his door close. She had a decision to make. It wasn’t going to be an easy one, and it was one that was probably going to get Jesse into more trouble rather than less. 

She knew she couldn’t find him alone, though. She was going to need help. Big help.

She sucked in a breath and picked up the phone, almost hanging up when the voice on the other end said, “Albuquerque Police Department, how may I help you?”

“I would like to report someone missing.”

“Okay, ma’am, could you come down to the station?”

She looked in Brock’s direction. She could drop him at her grandmother’s… it would only be for a while. This was the right move. This had to be the right move.

“Yes. I’ll be right there.”

***

“You’re looking better,” Walt commented, sounding almost fond, pressing a finger against the red blush on Jesse’s cheeks. He hadn’t been outside in weeks, now, but he was eating, so Jesse guessed that it balanced out. His arm was still throbbing, but he didn’t mention it. He didn’t want to seem ungrateful for how Mr. White took care of him.

“I am?” Jesse wasn’t sure of much of anything anymore. Mr. White seemed to know everything, seemed to even always know what Jesse was thinking. So it was best not to think too much or think of the wrong things. What was better was to just let Mr. White take the lead.

“That’s right. And you’ve been really good, you listen to me a lot more now. I knew that you would come around. Not to mention, I don’t think that I’ve ever seen this condo cleaner.”

Jesse’s eyes lit up bright, desperate for the praise. 

“Thanks, Mr. White.” He nodded his head up and down, almost bouncing on his heels. He tried to ignore the aches in his joints, in his arm especially. Everything felt a little warm, a little right at those words. 

“Why don’t we do a little something to celebrate?” Mr. White suggested. “We could watch a movie and make ‘smores.”

“That’s great!” Jesse exclaimed. “I’d… I’d love that.”

He tried to ignore the thoughts of Brock that came into his head then, that he would have loved to make ‘smores with him. That was another life. That life was over now. 

Jesse sat down next to Walt on the couch, laying his head on the older man’s shoulder. Mr. White clasped his arm tightly around him. 

“I can almost smell them already,” Jesse said with a smile. “Do we have everything to make them? And… what movie do you want to watch?”

Mr. White let go of Jesse, too quickly, to grab the remote and start to flick through the selections. 

“We’ve got Carrie… some shitty Oliver Stone movie… some horror movie fest… The Manhattan Project… any of this grabbing you?”

Jesse shook his head.

“You should pick, Mr. White.” He didn’t know why, but he said it. It just seemed like the right thing.

Jesse watched as a smile crept across Mr. White’s face. He felt a flash of pride. He didn’t have to be ashamed of Jesse anymore. Jesse wasn’t some screw-up anymore. Mr. White could count on him.

He pursed his lips, though, when he noticed something sad in Mr. White’s gaze. His first thought was that maybe… maybe he had bad news on the health front. Maybe Mr. White’s remission was over. Maybe he should ask… He could be supportive, he knew it.

But on the other hand… maybe Mr. White didn’t want him to know.

Or maybe there was trouble with Mrs. White. Then he really wouldn’t want Jesse to know, and especially not to ask. 

“Jesse,” Mr. White started. “I need to run to the store and get a few things. But why don’t you pick a movie and as soon as I get back, we can makes the ‘smores, okay?”

Jesse looked up and smiled. 

“Okay Mr. White. I won’t go anywhere.” The words weren’t filled with fear, even though that first punishment, and the ones after that, still lingered in his mind, somewhere below the skin. He wanted Mr. White to know that he could talk to him if he had to. Jesse didn’t have anywhere to go… there wasn’t really anywhere else Jesse even wanted to go.

The older man looked back at him for just a moment before grabbing his coat and walking out the door. Jesse heard it click.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter! Thank you all for reading this and I hope you like the end! Merry Christmas Eve to those who celebrate it, and happy 2-days-before-Kwanzaa to those who celebrate Kwanzaa. 
> 
> *****spoiler****
> 
>  
> 
> Warning: (non-graphic) amputation. 
> 
>  
> 
> ******end of spoiler****

Jesse didn’t know how many days it had been, but he hadn’t eaten. He had been waiting for Mr. White to get home. He didn’t know if Mr. White would be angry if he went and made food on his own, and he quickly discovered there wasn’t much to eat in the cabinets, either. On the third day, he ate ten or twenty graham crackers, but that wasn’t really doing much for him.

But if he tried to leave… No, no, the consequences of that were too great and maybe, maybe this was a test. A test to see if he was worthy to stay with Mr. White or whether the older man should just throw him out on his ass to sell his body for drugs again. He had to stay put for when Mr. White came back.

Sometimes he curled in the bed and tried to sleep. It felt comforting to breathe in Mr. White’s scent. He kept telling himself that the next morning he would wake up and he would hear the sound of the door opening and Mr. White coming in. Maybe he’d apologize for keeping Jesse waiting so long; he’d explain what had been so important and he and Jesse would make those ‘smores and they would smile at each other and everything would feel comfortable and safe again.

That was what had to happen. He couldn’t consider any alternative.

He was getting skinnier, and his arm was aching, but he barely felt it under the loneliness and emptiness he felt. Maybe he hadn’t been good enough, and Mr. White had decided to just leave him here alone. Maybe Jesse had been too annoying, too needy. He squeaked when he thought that – he didn’t know what he would do if he had been left all alone. When should he start trying to figure that out? As each day went by, it seemed to be more and more of a possibility, one that made him shake with silent sobs. Maybe Mr. White had gotten tired of him because Jesse cried too much. Maybe that had been it.

“Mr. White,” Jesse whispered, as if that would bring him back, as if he were a kid whose dog had run away and he would spend every day looking outside to hope to see him rushing in with his tail wagging, but losing as much hope as time went by, picturing the dog flattened under someone’s car or euthanized at the pound.

Maybe Mr. White had died. Perhaps his cancer had been worse than Jesse knew and he had only wanted to go back home to his family.

Maybe Jesse needed to go get a paper and read about it, but that would require going outside and Mr. White wouldn’t want him to go outside. There also seemed to be no source of the internet in the home; no laptop and if Mr. White had a smartphone, it was with him.

So Jesse slipped back into the welcome darkness under his bed, trying to remember what had brought him here so long ago, at least it felt so long ago. There’d be a draw, there’d been a reason, but now it was just commitment.

He would not leave his post. He would not.

His arm hurt so bad and he was so hungry. 

But he would wait. 

He let the tears fall down his face and all over the blanket, trying not to think of what Mr. White would say when he saw.

***

He didn’t know how long it had been when they broke down the door. He’d been sleeping, breathing in, trying to capture Mr. White’s scent, but it was fading, just like the memory of him. Jesse wasn’t entirely sure if he hadn’t just conjured the man up in his brain. Maybe he’d just been lying here for months on his own, taking orders from an imaginary friend.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

He heard loud boots, with no attempt to be quieter, stomping around the house, exchanging words in whispers. He squeaked as he hid under the blanket, wondering who they could be. Could Mr. White have been angry enough to send people to come in to kill him?

“There’s someone here!” announced a voice, and Jesse felt like he was breathing far too loud as he strained to hear it and figure out why it sounded so familiar.

“Master bedroom, check there,” another voice replied.

It hit him when they made their way into the bedroom, Jesse shuddering with fear as he scooted further underneath the blanket.

It was Hank Schrader’s voice. Schrader had come to get him.

“Pinkman,” Schrader called, “You can come out.”

Jesse tried to quiet his breathing, wished he could stop it entirely, couldn’t stop shaking, couldn’t stop telling himself how dumb he was, how he’d given himself away.

A hand came up and pulled back the blanket. Jesse curled into a ball, still desperate, and let out a yowl as he bent his arm the wrong way and put pressure on it.

“He needs a hospital,” Schrader said to someone else. Jesse was too dizzy in a haze of pain to see who he was talking to. “Walt was right. He’s in bad shape.”

Mr. White had called for them to come get him. Mr. White had called for them to come save him.

Jesse sucked on his lip and looked up. The man loved him still, he had to. 

He was never going to see him again.

Jesse couldn’t do anything but sob.

***

“Mr. Pinkman… You understand what we’re going to have to do here? You understand the procedure?”

Jesse scooted up in his hospital bed and nodded slowly.

“You’ve read all the forms?” the doctor continued.

“Yes,” Jesse whispered, handing them to the doctor with his good hand. Soon to be his only hand. He was shaking. 

“All right.” He placed a mask over Jesse’s face. “I need you to count down from 100.”

“One hundred… ninety-nine… ninety-eight,” Jesse whispered. He wished Mr. White was here. He would know what to do. He would know something to do. 

He felt his eyes slip shut, even as he tried to keep them open. Maybe when he woke up, this would have all been a dream.

***

The first thing he was conscious of was someone calling his name.

He opened his eyes and stared out. Everything was blues and whites. 

There was a hand grasping his.

“Jesse,” the someone repeated, and slowly he began to recognize the voice.

“Andrea,” he mumbled sleepily as she came into focus. He slowly looked left, then right, feeling less worried about the missing arm, which had finally stopped aching, and more worried about Andrea seeing him like this.

He had broken up with her. He never wanted her involved in this.

“I went looking for you,” she told him quietly. “I never gave up hope. And they found you. They found you!”

“Where’s Mr. White?” he asked. He was so groggy.

“Hell if I know, but he won’t be coming after you. They said he kept you prisoner! Jesse, that’s so scary.” Andrea put her hand on his chest. “As far as the papers said, he took off to the Balkans once his brother-in-law figured he was Heisenberg. Apparently he had an attack of conscience and called him to tell him where to find you.”

Jesse shook his head.

“You need so much better than me,” he whispered. “You looked for me? I never… never knew. But I can’t come back… I… I’m not even. I can’t even hold you.”

“Of course you can,” Andrea replied. “Try and sit up a little if you can.” Jesse slowly did, gazing at the bandaged stump again in dulled horror. Andrea leaned in and gently wrapped her arms around him. “Here, and put your arm right on my back.” She picked it up and helped him, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “I’ve got you.”

“And Brock?” Jesse asked softly.

“Knows. Wants to know when you can play him in video games again.” 

“I’ll try,” Jesse offered weakly. He blinked his eyes, trying not to sob. He couldn’t tell what he felt.

“I’ll bring you home with me,” Andrea told him, slowly letting go. “You’ll be safe with me. I promise.”

Jesse nodded slowly. 

“Andrea?” he asked. 

“Yes, Jesse?”

He extended his arm.

“Come hold me some more?”

“Of course,” Andrea told him. “Always. You’re home.”

**The End**


End file.
